


Not here to forget

by Bluespirit



Series: Wurlitzer Universe [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-19
Updated: 2007-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluespirit/pseuds/Bluespirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney makes a discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not here to forget

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction & is meant solely for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.

A gravelled voice warning against the danger of naming a boy Sue, or some other such guitar-twanging, brain-numbing homily, was rumbling through the open bedroom door as Rodney searched frantically for a clean pair of socks. He couldn’t believe that after twenty-five years of unlocking the mysteries of Atlantis they still hadn’t found a way for the laundry to simply do itself. What was the point of living in another galaxy, with undreamed of technological advances at his fingertips, if he still had to remember to wash his own dirty underwear?

“Presumably the Ancients felt themselves too enlightened to wear socks,” Rodney muttered. “They’d obviously never seen the horrors perpetrated on Miami Vice.”

He abandoned the clutter of his own closet and yanked open John’s dresser. If John forgot to remind Rodney about laundry then he’d just have to live with the consequences and share. To love, honour and provide with clean underwear - Rodney was sure he’d managed to slip that into their vows at some point in the proceedings.

He rolled his eyes fondly at the rows of neatly balled socks, colour-coded and laid out with military precision. John only ever wore black - dress socks - or white - running socks - but a flash of colour at the back of the drawer caught Rodney’s eye. He reached in and unearthed a faded orange fleece, practically hidden beneath the neat, monochromatic rows.

“What?” he murmured, shaking his head. It was his old fleece; a ratty thing stretched hopelessly out of shape, covered in electrical burns and with cuffs worn ragged with wear and age. He thought he’d thrown it out years ago; in fact he was sure he’d thrown it out - he hadn’t seen it in forever. What was it doing at the back of John’s sock drawer?

“Hey, Rodney - you ready yet?” John called, walking in and leaning casually against the doorframe. “We said we’d meet Teyla and Ronon in the mess before we….” His voice tailed off as Rodney turned around, the fleece in his hands.

“Where did this come from?” Rodney asked. “I’m sure I got rid of it when we first moved in together.”

“Yeah, you kinda did,” John said, head down and looking up at Rodney through smoky lashes. “I rescued it,” he added, sounding defensive and bashful at the same time. Rodney couldn’t be sure but it looked like the tips of his ears were turning pink as well.

“You rescued it,” Rodney repeated slowly, walking over to where John was all but scuffing his toe on the floor. “Why? That was nearly twenty years ago and you’ve kept it all this time?”

John smiled gently and touched the fleece, shabby and worn but still soft in Rodney’s hands. “You were wearing this the first time I ever saw you.”

“What?”

“I was sitting in the chair in Antarctica, not knowing what the hell was happening to me,” John said, “and there you were - snapping and scowling and wearing this godawful thing.”

Rodney snorted. “It was so cold and this was the last one they had in the stores. By that point I was completely beyond caring that it was bright enough to make people’s eyes bleed.” He stepped closer to John and smiled, pushing playfully at his shoulder. “But you kept it all these years anyway - you big sap.”

“Yeah,” John groaned, pulling them together and burying his face in Rodney’s neck, the fleece downy-soft between them.

“Sap or not, I’m still going to wear your socks,” Rodney said, pressing a kiss to the silver of John’s hair. He grinned happily as John’s spluttered laughter gusted across his ear.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ‘Wurlitzer Prize (I Don't Want to Get Over You)’ by Waylon Jennings


End file.
